


September Again

by AdhdBarryAllen



Category: Birds of Prey (Comic), DCU, Green Lantern - All Media Types
Genre: Character Study, Past Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Superhero Support Group, Triggers, implied Guy Gardner/Kyle Rayner - Freeform, implied Ted Kord/Michael Carter, its what heroes in crisis should be basically, no graphic scenes though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-23
Updated: 2018-07-23
Packaged: 2019-06-15 05:34:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15406113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AdhdBarryAllen/pseuds/AdhdBarryAllen
Summary: Now matter how far down the rabbit hole Zinda falls, Guy is always around to pull her back into reality.





	September Again

**Author's Note:**

> hey big warnings for past sexual assault, abuse, unhealthy coping ft alcohol, and mentions of suicide. there's no graphic scenes depicting any of this, I'm not about that. i wrote the first part as a cope while in that depression mood but this has a happy ending. please be safe <3

September was always a hard time.

The leaves had turned yellow and schools had opened their doors once more. Children amused themselves in the park down the street, embracing the change of season. Zinda stayed inside. She had three different locks on her door and a knife under her pillow. She was safer inside.

Nothing could reach her if she kept her doors locked and her windows bolted.

Dinah and Helena would often stop by with the intention of taking her out. Last time, they’d taken her for a walk on the Gotham pier. The smell of salt and sea and fish hit her nostrils, and she’d been immediately sick into a nearby trash can. Through the tears in her eyes, she’d begged them to take her home. She hated that they’d had to see her like that, feeling weak and pitiful.

They’d driven her home and tucked her in to bed, Dinah rubbing her back as Zinda shook violently under the covers as memories she’d tried to forget came over her in a violent wave. Dinah’s soft touch, usually a source of calm, made her want to shed her skin. But she didn’t say a thing. She couldn’t, her voice stuck in her throat as her mind replayed those memories over and over and over again. Helena seemed to notice, glancing at Dinah in a way that made her pull away. They stayed by her side until she could convince them she was well enough for them to leave her alone. Zinda hated herself for the relief she felt when they finally left.

The next time Dinah and Helena had tried to take her for a night out, she refused.

They still came to her door every few days, leaving behind Tupperware of Helena’s cooking when Zinda didn’t answer the door. It felt good to know they cared, but they couldn’t help her, not really.

The Birds all knew about what had happened, to some extent, but they still didn’t know her story. She wasn’t sure they’d ever know.

Her days lost all semblance of routine. Maybe she’d wake up at noon, maybe she’d wake up at night. Her phone sat on the dresser beside the half empty bottle of Jack, its battery long since dead. She chased away her thoughts the best way she knew how—one drink at a time, until she was numb enough to sleep.

When she did sleep, it was fleeting. It was hot, rancid breath that burned the back of her neck as he whispered promises of riches and power with a hand at her throat and sharp yellowed teeth that grazed her ear. She tried to scream. She tried to claw and kick and bite, _anything_ , but he was always stronger than her. She was always too _weak_. Hands grasped tightly around her wrists as he breathed the three most foul words he could say and she—

Zinda woke up.

Her sheets were soaked with sweat and every cell in her body pricked with contempt. That bastard didn’t love her, that much she knew. She reached for the bottle at her bedside with trembling hands, only to discover it was empty. Of _course_ it was empty.

She didn’t sleep for longer than thirty minutes at a time after that.

+++

She spends most of her time now watching old cartoons that she’d been too busy falling through time to experience, eating some of Helena’s leftovers when she needed to and washing it down with liquor. It numbed her somewhat, but that gnawing hollowness in her chest still remained.

Every day blurred together. Zinda isn’t sure how many days had passed when an insistent knock raps at her door. She tries to ignore it, but whoever it is has to be the most persistent solicitor to ever exist.

There was a thump and the door knob rattled—someone was trying to pick the lock. The first lock turned, then the second began to unlock as well. Zinda closes a hand around the grip of the knife under her pillow, her heart threatening to explode with every quickened beat. The door opens slowly, and the intruder took a step into the threshold. Using everything Dinah taught her, Zinda hurls the knife expertly. It embeds itself in the wood of the doorframe with a _thwack._

“Goddamn, old bird, this how ya greet all your guests?” a man calls.

Zinda perks up immediately at the sound of his voice. “Guy!?”

“Who else would it be,” Guy Gardner huffs, pulling her knife out of the wood and setting it on the kitchen table. He approaches her bed and sat down beside her. “You look like shit, Zinda.” It isn’t an insult. His tone is too concerned for that.

Zinda avoids his eyes and his statement. “Why are you even _here_ , Guy?”

“Dinah called me, all real concerned an’ shit. Said they hadn’t heard from ya in weeks. That your phone’s been off or something.’”

“It… died,” Zinda supplies.

Guy surveys the state of her apartment; empty bottles, a broken vase, and tissues that had missed the trash can. “Never thought I’d see the day where Dinah Lance calls me for help. They’re worried ‘bout you, doll. So am I.”

He’d been down this road with her more than once. Before, when Zinda was employed at his bar Warriors, he’d given her paid leave every September. It’s doubtful another employer would have given the same courtesy, but Guy knew how hard this time was for her. Through his mental health degree and his own experiences, Guy was well-versed in how much the anniversary of something traumatic could fucking suck. Over the years, she’d confided pieces of her story until it could be pieced together completely. Guy was beyond grateful that she had trusted him with her story, perhaps with more than she had ever told anyone else.

This time around, she was in maybe one of the worst states he had seen.

Guy sighs and set his hand down in the space between their bodies, not touching her but offering the contact should she want it. She glances down at his hand but doesn’t take it.

“I don’t like you being all alone like this, Zee,” Guy tells her.

“What, you thinkin’ I’ll off myself?” It comes out harsher than she intended. She turns, not meeting his eyes.

“I think you’re hurtin’ and that shuttin’ yourself off from tha’ people who love you most ain’t helping,” He says. Zinda stays quiet. “Wanna tell me what happened with your Birds?”

Zinda exhales slow. “They kept tryna’ take me outside, get me outta the house. It’s my own goddamn fault, they took me to the pier and I—” She wiped away her tears angrily. Guy handed her a box of tissues. “The _smell_ , Guy. Like sea and rotting fish. It smelled just like him and I just felt so fuckin’ _exposed_ , I was all nerves. They kept tryin’ to get me to cool down, but I _couldn’t_ , Guy. I couldn't.”

“Triggers are a real son of a bitch,” Guy nods. “Ya know ya don’t have to tell everybody what’s goin’ on with you, old bird. They’ll understand, I promise.”

“I hate them seein’ me so _weak_ ,” Zinda confesses. “And I hate how I still feel like this whenever it gets ‘round the time Killer Shark took me. Hell, I killed the bastard myself! Thought it woulda’ at least given me some peace of mind.”

Guy’s expression turns serious. “Zinda, you’ve stood up to that monster every time he’d pull somethin'. You’re a fuckin’ survivor. There aint _nothin’_ weak about you.”

Zinda scoots closer, leaning her head on his shoulder. Her tears dampen the fabric of his t-shirt, and Guy kisses her hair.

“Come stay with me an’ Kyle,” Guy says finally.

Zinda looks up at him. “What?”

“I told ya when you showed up at Warriors in ’95—You got a home with me as long as you’re in this time period.”

Zinda gives a small smile, the first real one he’s seen from her so far. It’s a comforting sight to see.

“I know I ain’t no official counselor, but I got this fancy degree that makes me a damn good listener,” Guy grins.

“Just like old times, huh,” Zinda replies. He’d made the same offer years ago, back when she was displaced in time and still adjusting to the future. Even when she'd barely known him, Guy had offered to be her shoulder to lean on.

“Kyle made you green tomato pie too—your mama’s recipe. Still don’t know how you can eat that stuff. We’d love to have ya, if that’s what you want.”

Zinda’s heart swells and she nods against Guy’s body. “Yeah,” she says, voice slightly muffled by his shirt. “Yeah, I want that.”

“Good, ‘cause I was plannin’ on bein’ pretty persistent. Now, go take a shower and I’ll pack up your shit. You _smell,_ Blake.”

Zinda flips him off and heads for the shower, but she was truly grateful for his intervention. No matter what happened in life, Guy Gardner would always be her safe space.

+++

She's been doing better. She isn't cured of the panic attacks and the nightmares—not by a long shot—but its gotten a bit easier to breathe with Guy there reminding her to do so.

Kyle does his best to help her find ways to cope that don't involve losing herself in a bottle. She's no good at painting or stress-baking, so she finds herself learning how to cross stitch instead. It's more soothing than she'd always assumed; the motions are repetitive, but still require her focus, making it a worth distraction from what's on her mind. Zinda thinks her mother would be proud if she could see her now, finally trying her hand at something “ladylike.”

The first project she finishes is akin to an explosion of multicolored embroidery floss, but Guy frames it anyways.

After a week or so of staying with Guy and Kyle, they’d managed to convince her to attend some superhero group therapy class in Central City. Both of them gave it raving reviews, but Zinda wasn’t so sure. The only therapist she’d ever really had was Guy, and their friendship made him too biased at times to provide objective professional opinion (but she loved him anyway).

Guy offers to go with her to the meeting, partly out of support and partly because he tries to make it to a session every week as is. Zinda is relieved he'd offered—the prospect of attending a group filled with unfamiliar people alone, people who expect her to disclose all of her trauma, is daunting to say the least.

They fly over to Central on a Thursday. Guy suggested they make a weekend of it, maybe stop by the Flash Museum and make fun of all Barry and Wally's unfortunate costumes of the past. Zinda had laughed at the idea for a good five minutes—laughing came much easier to her now than it had a few weeks ago. The meeting itself is in a nondescript office building, and Guy tells her it's owned by one of the leaguers when she asks.

When they enter the building, a receptionist greets them, looking over their quite recognizable superhero costumes and handing them a card with a room number and a key code. Zinda thanks her, then follows Guy up the stairs to the room. When Guy punches in the code and opens the door, the noise of ten different kinds of chatter floods Zinda's ears. Guy greets just about everyone, hugging people, fist bumping them, asking how their lives have been since he last saw them. The atmosphere is warm and welcoming, and best of all, there's free donuts.

Guy returns to her as she's taking advantage of the donuts and coffee, a well-dressed woman with a kind smile on his arm. “Zinda, I want 'cha to meet Sue Dibny. It's thanks ta' her that we have this little group.”

Sue grins and gives Guy's arm a pat. “Oh, it's not a big deal. I Just had to bully Batman for a few months till he gave me the the space to get this thing up and running.”

Zinda's eyebrows raise. She likes this woman already.

“Anyways,” Sue continued. “Just wanted to let you know we're glad to have you. We'll start in a few minutes, so feel free to mingle till then. And if you need anything, now or after the group, don't hesitate to ask.”

When Sue walks away, Zinda looks down to realize that she'd slipped her a note with a phone number on it. Zinda snorts and pockets the piece of paper.

Zinda is surprised to find that she knows more people here than she'd expected. She spots Roy Harper, chatting idly with a man with dark hair and sunglasses. Roy is like a son to Dinah and he visits the Birds often, though he and Zinda aren't more than casual acquaintances. The man he's talking to seems familiar as well, though Zinda has yet to discern how. But then again, that's to be expected of a group therapy for vigilantes. There's a lot of heroes in the room she's unfamiliar with, but she does recognize Cynthia Reynolds, who beckons for Zinda to come join her. She's worked with Cindy before on missions, but she can't say she expected to see the woman here. Zinda smiles in return and sits down in the open seat beside her.

“Alright everyone, we're about to get started, so if you could all take a seat, that'd be great!” Sue announces. She stands by the podium at the head of the chair circle to make her announcement, but joins everybody in the circle once she's done.

Guy sits down next to Zinda and Cindy as the meeting begins. Sue has them go around the circle giving their name and pronouns. Some introduce themselves with a civilian name, and others, like the person next to Roy who finally introduces himself as Nightwing, give their alias instead.

“Alrighty then,” Sue says when the circle comes back to her. “To those of you who are returning, it's good to have you back, and to those of you who are new, welcome! We don't have any sort of theme for discussion today, so it's really just a free for all. Does anyone want to share first?”

Cindy raises her hand tentatively. Sue nods at her to go ahead. “I guess I just... wanted to say thank you for last week when you all encouraged me to talk to J'onn about how... how _awful_ it felt knowing he could have stopped Tiernay when he attacked me in Paris, and yet he didn't. But being angry at J'onn is exhausting, he just lets you!” Her comment earns a few chuckles from the group. “He apologized to me, said that if he could do it over he would have _never_ made that choice. There was definitely crying,” She laughs, wiping her eyes.

“Okay I'm done, someone else go now,” Cindy declares.

A man dressed almost entirely in gold who had introduced himself as Booster raises his hand. “I'll go next, I'm fucking traumatized.” He uncrosses his legs and sighs into his hands.

“It'll be seven years since Ted's death soon. Seven _years_. God, still think I see him on the street sometimes, and I'll catch myself thinking 'hey, maybe he's _not_ dead!' Cause you know us vigilante-types, we can never stay down for long.” He laughs, but it's a bitter laughter.

“Ted's my best friend, I _loved_ him. Fuck, I still dream about him sometimes, and then I wake up and he's not with me and I—“ Booster's words catch in his throat. A box of tissues is passed from hand to hand until it reaches him. “Sometimes it's just real fuckin' hard to find a reason to keep at this without him. I know he'd want me to, though.”

A few people get up to offer hugs Booster, Guy being one of them.

“Thank you for sharing, Booster,” Sue says, her tone soft and soothing. She shifts her attention back to the room after Booster has settled down some. “Would any of our newcomers like to share? Zinda?”

Guy pokes her thigh and Zinda jerks to attention. “Me?”

Sue nods. “You don't have to though, not at all.”

“Okay,” Zinda says, taking a deep breath. She knew she'd have to share at some point. It was why she was here, after all. “Last month was the anniversary of my attack.” She closes her eyes tight, then keeps going.

“Been about seventy-somethin' years now. Or twenty years, depending on if your countin' the ones I was in the time stream for or not. I don't even know the date Killer Shark took me, hell, I don't recall most of it on account o' bein' drugged to the gills, but it hits me hard every September. I guess now I try to spend that time as numb as possible, but I know I'm hurtin' Dinah an' Helena an' Babs when I shut them out like that. I've had that shark bastard take advantage of me, turn me into somethin' I'm not, and make me hurt the people I love. It feels like he's still gotta grip on me, even though I took a knife to his neck two years ago. An' yet he's still grippin' me so hard that sometimes I can't breathe.” Guy offers her his hand, and she grips it tight.

“Guy had me come here tonight, but I think I'm mighty glad he did. I figure I've spent enough decades avoiding my problems. I don't wanna be afraid of a dead man no more.”

It feels so good to finally say it. To have everything that’s been weighing on her for the past twenty years out in the open. Even if it's to a group of people she’s only just met, Zinda can take comfort in knowing that she’s _not_ alone. This group of heroes has come together to support each other in one of the hardest things a person can face. She can see herself coming back again next week.

**Author's Note:**

> man fuck killer shark. the birds of prey comics do a pretty good job exploring zinda's trauma over being displaced in time but dont spend much time on how shes had to deal with that fucker three separate times. girl needs a break.  
> also a thanks to fern for sharing the idea of sue dibny's superhero group therapy with me and to tom and cas for being awesome.


End file.
